Naaseh V’nishma

I learned V’ahavta in English with Debbie Friedman’s melody long before I learned the Hebrew of the same prayer. Because of Debbie’s setting, for a very long time, even after eventually learning the Hebrew and the “proper” cantillation, I was pretty sure that I understood the text. We’re supposed to love God, teach our kids about God, talk about God, think about God, put the words of God on the doorposts of our houses and on our gates. And yet, there was always one line that I couldn’t quite grasp:

“And thou shalt bind them for a sign upon thy hand. And they shall be for frontlets between thine eyes.”

I remember, at one point, a teacher explained that a frontlet was something that you wear on your face, right between your eyes. So maybe, I thought, we’re supposed to wear glasses. That thought didn’t last long because I didn’t wear glasses and neither did my parents nor most of the people who I saw singing, “and they shall be for frontlets.”

It was in first or second grade that a rabbi pulled out a small velvet bag and told us that this was what V’ahavta was talking about.

We watched as the rabbi removed each object from this small velvet bag, placing one black box on his left arm and the other on his forehead, just at his hairline, and methodically tightly twisting himself up in leather straps. This was tefillin, and I thought I finally understood the lines “And thou shalt bind them for a sign upon thy hand. And they shall be for frontlets between thine eyes.”

Not quite.

I just didn’t get it. Judaism was all about joy — dancing in the aisles of the sanctuary during services, playing a tambourine at Mi Chamocha, parading with a Torah scroll at Simchat Torah, dressing up in funny costumes at Purim, singing songs all night long (or at least until I fell asleep) at the Passover seder…Judaism was about freely and joyfully opening ourselves up to the world around us. The tefillin straps were constricting the rabbi’s body, creating black stripes on his skin, leaving marks from being wrapped so tightly, and the box on his head wasn’t even between his eyes like the song said it was supposed to be.

I knew what the words of V’ahavta meant, I knew what tefillin were, but as a Reform Jew, they were still foreign, something that other people did. I knew, but I did not understand.

It wasn’t until I was 16 years old, on my NFTY in Israel trip, my first time in Israel, that I experienced laying (or wrapping) tefillin for myself.

For those of you have been to the men’s side of the Western Wall, you might remember some very friendly Orthodox men asking if you’ve laid tefillin yet that day. When we responded that we had not laid tefillin that day — nor any other day, for that matter — they “asked” if we would like to. I say “asked” because while they do phrase it as a question, when you’re standing there, in awe of this place of which you’ve seen pictures and heard stories your entire life, it really doesn’t feel like a question. 

So a man wrapped the leather straps around my arms and in between my fingers with boxes on my head and next to my heart. He gave me a prayer card and sent me up to the wall to pray. Is it possible that I finally understood this law from the V’ahavta?

This week’s Torah portion is called Mishpatim, which literally means “laws.” This is where we received laws around the treatment of slaves, capital punishment, “an eye for an eye,” and twice, that all-important line, “You shall not mistreat the stranger, for You were strangers in the land of Egypt.”

The laws are presented to the Israelites along with a promise of protection from their enemies. The Israelites accept the covenant, saying, “Naaseh v’nishmah,” “We will do and we will understand.”

Personally, that seems out of order to me. It should read “Nishmah v’naaseh” or even better, “shomim v’naaseh” — “We understand what you want and so we will do it.” But no, we do the thing and then we understand. 

To turn to the Hebrew grammar for a moment, these verbs — laasot and lishmoa — are conjugated in the imperfect tense, meaning neither action is complete. Not “We will have done it and then we will understand,” but rather, “We will be understanding as we are doing.” More aptly, one could read it as “we will understand through doing.”

Tefillin is a ritual that remains unfamiliar and foreign to most Reform communities. Though I knew what is was — I could recognize it as a physical object — I did not understand its true meaning until I literally tried it on for myself. And once I understood, it became a significant ritual for me. So much so that, while living in Jerusalem, I bought a set for myself. I didn’t really know what I was doing and I definitely overpaid for them, but they were mine, and I still use them, not every day, but often enough.

The physicality of tefillin is like a mindfulness exercise, each loop a tangible reminder to stay present and prayerful. As I wrap the words of Torah around my body, I am bound to tradition, to ritual, to the Jewish people, and yes, to God. I could continue to describe it so you might hear, but I know true understanding of this ritual — of any ritual — comes from doing.

We are an experiential people. We do not just read the Torah but rather aim to experience revelation at Sinai every time we stand as the ark is opened and the scrolls are brought into our midst. Our Passover Seder is not just a retelling of our Exodus from Egypt but a ritualized reenactment, so as each person sees themself “k’ilu hu yatza mimitzrayim” — as if we personally came out of Egypt. We do not fulfill the obligation to tell and understand the story without experiencing it ourselves.

Naaseh v’nishma — we are a people who understand through doing. 

And so I present a challenge — not homework, and not an obligation, but a suggestion and an opportunity. During Shabbat and over the next week, I invite you to find a practice that you think you may understand but have never tried yourself. There are plenty that don’t require expensive objects — maybe it’s daily prayer, meditation, wearing a kippah, saying hamotzi before a meal or birkat hamazon after. Open a prayer book in the morning and read through nisim b’chol yom before going about your day. What meaning might you derive from the “doing” of these rituals? 

May we find meaning in new experiences, understanding in new actions, and growth through new practice.

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Delivered at Hevreh of Southern Berkshire for Parashat Mishpatim